Little Brother
by CimentSemantique
Summary: I have a wonderful friend who thinks that Kíli should die first in the BoFA, to make Fíli feel like he has failed his brother. I disagree.


By the time I have called to him, it is too late for him to raise his sword.

_He had lead me into the kitchens once when I was too young to lift a sword myself. We were caught by a scowling Dwalin, who had come up behind Fíli and boxed his ears before I'd had the chance to react. I had run, then, but my little legs were no match for Dwalin's, and soon we were all three in front of Mama. Mama had snorted as much at us as at Dwalin, and we giggled to see his ears turn a red to rival ours._

Dwalin saw Thorin fall, but he has not reached us. I saw him fighting towards us not long ago, but he is not now in my sights. Nothing is in my sights but Fíli, whose eyes are wide and wet.

_We were older and I had found him after a long night of trying to whet his first ax, too proud to ask for help. He had not slept, nor eaten, and he snapped when I tried to joke. He had cut his hand open and was holding it close to his chest, staring off into the distance, as if ignoring the tears would discourage them._

His chest is unshielded and his face is open. He looks surprised before anything else, as if pain is a new creature. He almost looks angry to be falling to his knees.

_He had twisted his ankle pulling me out of a ditch and I was only bruised. He was wincing with every step, his jaw clenched. I had told him that I could walk. "What," he'd smirked, "to fall into another hole? I only have so many ankles."_

I loose my arrow at the Goblin that struck him, but then my bow is on the ground as I barrel towards him, kicking and elbowing and possibly screaming. He has covered Thorin as best he can in his own fall, but he does not seem convinced it will do much good now.

_Thorin, who has never been able to tell us one from the other, regardless of our hair colors, once slipped and called Fíli Frerin. It was only the once, and he had turned pale as chalk, and had spoken to neither of us for a long while. When he finally decided to notice us again, he had taken Fíli in his arms and held him tight, without a word._

Thorin's eyes are closed and I cannot tell if he is breathing. It is Fíli who looks up at me in a panic, moving his mouth as if to say my name: "Kíli, no."

_"Kíli, run," he shouted, trying to fend off a great animal I did not in my young age recognize to be a bear. I did not run. We brought it down together. He scolded me afterwards, his hands shaking._

The Goblins have not forgotten us, but they are creeping slowly, as if they know they have all the time in the world. Fíli sees them and makes to lunge towards them, his swords loose in his hands, a hollow roar rising from his throat. I wrap my arms around him and his blood is sticky. "Fíli, no," I say, but my voice cracks like I know his bones have. His jaw clenches.

_He had been in the woods because I was lost. He came looking for me, and found me sniveling in the dirt. "I hope I am not to spend my life looking after my little brother," he said with a smirk I still remember. "I cannot come looking for you every time you are lost."_

"You should be at your post, little brother," he whimpers. He makes to turn his head towards me, his golden head a mess of blood and braids, but he cannot focus his gaze. "The idea of archery is distance."

_His golden hair, loose in the style of the Broadbeams, glinted in the sun the day I had decided my talent lay in archery. He grinned from his vantage point far from the targets, eating his apple and taunting me gleefully. "Tell me, little brother: what good is archery, in the end?"_

My hands shake as I turn him to face me, and I think I am weeping. He stubbornly refuses to, even now, and instead tries to meet my eyes. "Distance," he repeats, his eyes cloudy.

_"Your face crumples like cooling wax when you cry, little brother. I did not know Mama had given me a candle to call my kin."_

I shake my head with my face full of wax. "Is there really a point now?" I say.

Fíli coughs out something that sounds like it would have been a laugh and looks away from me quickly, trying to hide the tear that has finally loosed itself from his eye. He shakes and mutters a word that sounds suspiciously like "idiot."

And then he is slack in my arms.

_"Fíli, are you awake?"_

The handles of his swords are still warm when I take hold of them.

_"Go back to sleep, Kíli."_


End file.
